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 Jun 2015 The Broken Poet
Sinai
Pick me up
In pieces
Organise my every scrape
Across your bathroom floor
And clean me
Wash off all my imperfections
Rinse away my every fear
Then warm me up on love
And lay me in your bed
Guard over me tonight
As I fall asleep to the sound
Of your lips
Whispering sweet kisses
To my healing skin

Make me forget I even
Wanted to take care of myself
 Jun 2015 The Broken Poet
Delaney
You told me my words were like cold, sweet milk,
flowing so elegantly into your mouth
on a hot summer's day.
But, I guess, somewhere along the way,
you became lactose intolerant.


(d.d.b)
It no longer describes how I feel about you.
It's more than love because love is overused. It's thrown around. It's beaten. It has a bad reputation.

I could say, "I love you," and that could mean a million things. So instead, I say, "What are you doing Friday?" and "How was your day?"
I say, "Do you need new shoes? I see the holes in them," and "Your mom called to see how you're doing".

I do not say, "I love you," because I don't. I don't know what I feel, but I can tell you that it's so much more than love.
Mom said
Anything is possible
If you put your heart to it

I put my heart next to yours
hoping for us to be possible
I guess mom was wrong
as I wake morning

       coffee cups dancing in head

caffeine is my friend
As I sip my morning cup in thought.
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